Speak your mind – please!

do not fear.

I wont think you queer.

Try to say it

Do not shout.

Don’t eat your heart out.

Simply utter.

It wont be clutter.

Take your time dear.

I want to know

the way you feel.

Say it with or without zeal.

You’ll feel better

so will I.

The way between us

will get clear.

Don’t fear.  



Okay, how long have a dreaded posting something for anyone to read? Quite awhile. I envision arrows and darts coming towards me and critiques galore or maybe not one reader. (Jokes on me). . After all I’ve never done this; although I’ve written most of my life and have been published and won contests. It was always in the context of either a  writing class, journaling for myself; sharing  with friends or a teacher, entering a contest.  in other words I felt safe. There was a known human being out there who I knew would support me even if they critiqued my work. I was in a safe space, either a class where only constructive critiques were offered and I enjoyed the sharing and the critiques; those I could learn from and those who enjoyed my work. But this, This is a big open screen. Wide open and who knows whose out there?. Yes, it’s scary to write to ? anyone. I’m actually not sure if I want to do this, but I’ll make an attempt to see how it goes. I’d rather remain anonymous but computers are new to me at my age so don’t know how to do this. My first computer, a Dell Windows 7, which I’m still learning three or four years later. I may include a poem or two that I wrote awhile back which I had good reviews on. So, here goes:


                                                                                                    I USED TO BE A BUDDHIST

                                                                                                    I entered the center, Fourteenth Street

                                                                                                    New York City, then in Dallas, Texas

                                                                                                    Chanted Nam Ye Ho Ho Ren ge Kio

                                                                                                    Sustained long breathy

                                                                                                     Succulent air as I built up

                                                                                                     Steam into my trachea and lungs.

                                                                                                     Then one day, ‘it’ happened –

                                                                                                     Kundalini  Centers Swerved

                                                                                                     Churned, turned. Ecstatic

                                                                                                     Pleasures consumed me.

                                                                                                     I was light, ethereal, altered.

                                                                                                     The practice worked.

                                                                                                     Justin, long, loving, energized

                                                                                                     Taught me to practice regularly

                                                                                                     Said he’d do a million dimukus

                                                                                                     to meet his lover.  Shortly after

                                                                                                     Rick appeared. The match was


                                                                                                     Four years they stayed together

                                                                                                     until death took, first one.

                                                                                                     Then the other.

                                                                                                      I used to be a Buddhist

                                                                                                      But my ailments never cleared up.

                                                                                                      And chanting was after all

                                                                                                      hard for me to do.






 They ask me to be original                                                                                              

within a box of rules.

With anapest and Budapest

Iambs  and troches are best.

I almost suffocate

on a villanelle.

I haven’t learned to play

the trochee and the anapest

The names of all I do.

I write free verse

At times quite terse.

Other times it flies away.

I may retire from hard knocks

school of writers.

Take my muse

Dip her in a pool

of ink , and dry her.